


Name Him Our Son

by megumijaya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megumijaya/pseuds/megumijaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa gives birth to her first child and her husband isn't there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name Him Our Son

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have a note ;)
> 
> Oh, but the pic of the baby, yeah not a newborn. (But his eyes are so big, kawaii!)

 

When Sansa gave birth to her first son, her husband wasn’t there. Those who were present were; a wildling midwife who came to live in Winterfell after the collapse of the Wall and Sandor Clegane, Sansa's Sworn Shield. Sansa’s northern husband was heavens know where, but she couldn’t care less. Sandor was there, the man who saved her from ex-betrothed and Petyr Baelish, he brought her back to Winterfell. 

“He has the look of North, little bird.” Sandor sat at the edge of her bed as Sansa held her son in her arms. The midwife was long gone as the two stayed in the room and basked in the joy of the new life Sansa brought to their world.

“As do you.” She didn’t bother to look at him; her eyes were locked set on her child. “What shall I name him, Sandor?”

“Something northern or your banner men will throw a tantrum like two year old babes.” Sandor scoffed at the thought of the lords in the North. _A bunch of whiny babes now,_ Sandor thought.

“Here, hold him for me. I wish to dress.” Sansa has gotten use to Sandor seeing her bare body over the years and gently placed the babe in Sandor’s arms.

It was now the middle of winter and as warm as Winterfell is kept, Sansa loved to be bundled in thick dresses and cloaks.

“You two have a striking resemblance, my lord.” Sansa smiled at him; at both of the males. “We could name him Eddard.”

Sandor had heard his mistress propose a name but the lad in his arms was so alluring, he didn’t respond.

“Though I’m not sure if it fits him. How about Haryn? A little like my husband’s, no I don’t like that one either.” Sansa had fished out a plain cherry blossomed colored shift to wear and moved to sit close to her Sworn Shield.

“Relax, little bird, you don’t have to decide right now.” With the babe in his left arm and Sansa at his right, he took hold of her and pressed her against his side.

“But I wish to be able to call him something. To name him before Hayls returns.” Sansa relished in Sandor’s arms, she has always appreciated the girth of his being.

“Who cares of him, the babe is yours and is the heir to Winterfell. Your husband has no say in this matter. The little horse shit wasn’t even here!” Sandor refused to believe that Hayls had any control of Sansa or, as of a moment ago, her son.

“Your are absolutely right! Sandor, my love, let me hold him again. I want to feed him without a wet nurse.”

“That’s not very ladylike is it, Sansa? What would your septa say?” Sandor sarcastically remarked as he passed her the babe.

“A scolding can be insured.” Sansa giggled and loosened her shift to release her breast. Gently, Sansa guided her child to feed from her. “Does he look like a William?”

Sandor began fingering Sansa’s long auburn hair as she breastfed, “Not really, no. Think of something else.”

“There’s not a lot of Northern names that aren’t associated with something debauched.” She looked up at him and laughed.

“Then make one up, Sansa.” He smiled at her.

“Well, I want something that resembles both our names.” Sansa winged her son off as her breast was beginning to get a little sore. She retied her shift and began to lightly pat her babe’s back for a burp.

“We both have summer names, he was born in the winter.” Sandor stood from the bed and walked to the window that was placed adjacently to the little bird’s bed. He looked through the window covered in frost; the day was frozen still like a painting in the Great Hall. Trees were completely incased and snow, as was the ground.

“Arya’s good at naming things, maybe I should ask her?” Sansa thought of calling her handmaiden to summon Arya who was most probably sparing with the men-at-arms.

“We have to decide for ourselves, the wolf-bitch can’t help.” Sandor sighed, he could fight off ten men at once but deciding a child’s name was awfully hard.

“Well look at him,” Sansa raised the babe in the air a little. “He has dark hair and storm grey eyes. A tiny nose and shapely lips, and his hair is so soft.”

“Aye, he’ll be one of your pretty knights you love so much.” Next to the window, Sandor leaned his body against the brick wall of Winterfell.

“I know longer care for knights, my lord. I rather like to be in the presence of strong men.”

“Of course you do.” Sandor said very disbelieving.

“Really, you mean everything to me and you’ve given me everything I’ve wanted.” Sansa held her son closer to her chest.

“Sansa-” Sandor started but was cut off when the door slammed open.

In walked Hayls, “The babe is finally here.” He looked once at Sandor then at Sansa and the babe.

“Yes, he was born some hours ago.” Sansa's mood was completely dejected with her husband’s homecoming. Hayls was so full of himself; some can hardly believe his head hasn’t exploded yet.

“And have you decided on a name yet, wife.” His voice and whole aura was supercilious and haughty.

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked at Sandor, “No, actually Lord Clegane and I were just discussing that topic.” Sansa tried to give Hayls the idea that he wasn’t needed here.

“Well it seems you don’t need my help.” Hayls looked at both of them.

“Obviously, but what help could you give anyway?” Sandor stepped up and stood hovering over Hayls.

“Fine then! I didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.” Hayls walked out the room and slammed the door louder than when he opened it.

“He’s no Florian, little bird.”

“Yes, I know that very well.”

“Make well the babe won’t be like him.”

“He won’t he’ll be a strong warrior like you. He’ll have my grace and charm, and your bravery.”

“Bravery? And what shall he use bravery for?”

“To face his fears. Like we did, no?”

“Aye, and honor like a Stark.”

“And Strength like a Clegane.”

“To use it wisely.”

“And protect the weak.”

Sandor bursted into laughter, “Aye, he’ll be the perfect specimen. No one will doubt he’s your son.”

Sansa gleamed back, “Oh dear, but they will doubt Hayls because I wish to name our son Sandrik.”


End file.
